Afraid
by Jenna Wilder
Summary: Nightmares are scary things. Garetcentric, first person POV. Read and review, make my day!


**A/N: Whee, another Golden Sun fanfic. .:happy:. I'm also working on a V-day one, possibly duskshipping (that is the right term, innit? .:sweatdrop:. ), steamshipping, and/or Valeshipping. Well, we'll see how that turns out. XD**

**You know how a lot of people call Garet an idiot? I figure it wears on him after a while, poor guy. I really do love him, so I'ma try to stop writing semi-depressing fanfiction about him.  
**

**Disclaimer: Golden Sun is not mine. Wish it was, but it's not.**

**Word count: 1850-some words, I think. **

**---**

_Idiot._

_Jeez, you're so stupid sometimes._

_Sometimes? All the time!_

_How can one person have such an overwhelming amount of sheer stupidity allotted to them?_

_Idiot._

_Could you try to get something right?_

_It doesn't have to be much. _

_Maybe you could, I don't know… not embarrass us by opening your mouth?_

_He'd trip over his own feet._

_Yeah, you're right._

_Idiot._

_Try not to trip over your own feet, okay?_

_Why'd you do that? Even I could see that monster coming…_

_Idiot._

_You can't even beat me in a swordfight!_

_He can't even stay awake in class._

_Do you know how to do anything other than eat and sleep?_

_Idiot!_

_How hard can this possibly be?_

_Ha ha! Guys, come see this! _

_Oh, come on. Honestly, we can't trust you with anything!_

_Idiot!_

_Would you please stop goofing off?_

_Ah, but that's what he does best._

_Yeah, that's about all he's good for. _

_Idiot. Idiot! _Idiot! **Idiot!!**

**---**

"SHUT UP!!"

I startle myself awake with my own yell. It's nothing new, but I hate it. It means that I've been dreaming again.

Dreams are scary things. Sure, you can say that I'm a guy who shouldn't be afraid of anything, let alone dreams, but I'd say that dreams are scarier than real things sometimes. I can deal with giant monsters who want to eat me or killer spiders that lurk around some of the inns we've been in. I don't mind running for my life from a boulder that's guaranteed to crush me if I stop. Because then, I can pull out my sword and kill the monsters, or make sure that my friends get out safe. I know that I can destroy the monster that's looking for dinner.

Dreams… not so much. I can't be sure of anything in my dreams, and I certainly can't pull out my sword. For one, it usually damages everything within radius as I swing blindly in my sleep, trying to kill the remaining wisps of dreams that haunt me when I close my eyes.

No, not dreams. Nightmares.

You'd think I'd be used to it by now. I don't really care if Isaac calls me a fool for setting off a trap or rushing head-on into a fight. Not when I'm awake, at least.

When I'm asleep, it's a different story.

When I'm awake, I have a sort of shield up that protects me from all the insults I get for being stupid. I know I'm stupid, and I know that my friends tell me that in a way that's meant for good.

But I can't tell that in my dreams. Maybe it's 'cause my shield's down, maybe it's because I let my guard slip as I doze. I don't know, and I don't think I'll ever know.

All I know is that in my nightmares, it hurts. I want to cry, but then I remind myself: I'm eighteen, dammit. I don't cry any more. So I hold it all in until there's nothing left in me but this feeling of anger and hurt, and still they laugh at me.

Even now, in my semi-awake state, it aches. I know it was just a nightmare, but still -- it's like they were really there.

Isaac's awake now. I guess I must have woken him up, too. With this inn room, it's hard to not wake anyone up, even if you're just getting up to get a drink. And that's what I do, to cover for myself.

"Mm. Garet, what's wrong?" he asks, half-conscious. His pajamas don't fit well around the shoulders. They're too wide, too large for his skinny frame. He should be borrowing clothes off Ivan, not me.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep," I order in return, hearing a tremor in my voice and ordering it away. Banishing it to the far corners of Weyard is almost satisfactory. The water pitcher is near the windowsill, balanced precariously on a table that holds the little things we carry around with us: Ivan's silver Jupiter charm, Isaac's prized Psynergy Stone (polished to perfection), a tiny dragon carving that Jenna made for me years ago when we were kids. I don't know how she carved it so flawlessly, but she did.

I pour myself a glass of water, and somehow manage to knock the pitcher onto the floor. It shatters into fragments of glass, and I curse under my breath. At least I'm awake now.

"Idiot," Isaac mutters sleepily, more to his pillow than to me.

"I know," I reply, sweeping the glass into a pile with the broom that's tucked into the corner. I don't want to step on it in the morning. As I finish, I can hear Ivan breathing lightly – he's faking sleep. He only breathes lightly when he's trying to hear what's going on without getting involved in the conversation. I must have woken him up too.

Isaac is asleep again, and after fifteen minutes of silence, Ivan's breathing goes back to being deep. I don't know if Mia heard me, 'cause she has her own room. A real blessing for her, because Isaac snores like a bullfrog when he sleeps on his back.

He's not snoring now… he's exhausted and sleeping on his side. I guess falling into a lake will do that to you… and getting your clothes soaking wet is no fun. Especially if your bag falls in with you.

I hop back into bed, pulling the covers up around my ears and staring up at what's visible of the ceiling. For a while, I'm content with studying the patterns of the wood there. Then I remember that we have to be awake tomorrow, have to get up and continue walking doggedly on, chasing after Saturos and Menardi. We have to stop them from lighting the remaining lighthouses, but more importantly, we need to rescue Jenna and Felix.

I need to be awake tomorrow… today really…

But I'm afraid to fall asleep.

I don't want to dream any more. I'm tired of it hurting.

I shut my eyes tightly, stemming the flow of tears.

I'm eighteen.

Crying is for little kids.

---

In the morning, everyone is fresh and clean and annoyingly awake. I huddle under the covers, praying that Isaac will leave me alone for fifteen more minutes, but he yanks them out of my grip and pads off in his fire-print pajamas after singing a wake-up call in my ear.

I get out of bed slowly, mourning for the lost warmth that has long evaporated into the air, and stumble around getting my things together. I change out of my bed-clothes and into my normal gear, making sure that everything sits right, and then realize that Isaac and Ivan have already gone downstairs.

Late again.

Downstairs it is, with my pack jammed hastily with my things. Mia, Ivan, and Isaac all look up as I trip at the top of the stairs, nearly falling headfirst and barely saving myself from a violent death when I manage to catch hold of the banister.

"Good morning, idiot," Isaac and Mia chorus together, Ivan not joining in because his mouth is crammed full of toast.

"Good morning to you too," I manage, trying to ignore the term I've grown to hate so much.

"So like I was saying – here, Garet, this seat's yours – I was in the middle of a great dream, and what does this lunkhead do?"

"He yelled, didn't he?" Mia asks, hiding a smile with a delicately gloved hand.

"Yes! Sat bolt upright telling someone to shut up, and – where are you going, Garet?"

Suddenly, I'm not so hungry any more. I've got this strange feeling, almost like I'm sick to my stomach, and all I can think is that I have to get away from here before I pass out.

"I-I need a bit of fresh air. You guys go ahead, you can package some up for me and I'll eat later."

I leave them behind, Isaac with a bewildered look on his face as he stares after me – and then the door slams, making something fall and break inside. Did really bang it that hard? I didn't mean to. I can't do anything right, can I?

There's not much to see around here. Altin's a pretty boring place now that we've killed all the monsters that caused the flooding. Since there's nowhere to sit, I walk around and look at everything. The terrific amounts of water damage will keep the citizens busy for months to come – repairing, rebuilding, arguing over whose turn it is to stay at the inn in the few dry beds left to the town.

Isaac taps my shoulder, probably thinking that he did a good job of sneaking up on me. I can hear him coming from a long way off, so it's no surprise, but I play the fool for him and pretend to be startled.

"Here, Garet. I brought you some breakfast. Can't go marching on an empty stomach, can we?" he asks cheerfully, smiling at me and offering me a bundle that I can't deny smells good. Somehow, he senses that his smile is out of place, and he takes it off and looks at me with a worried expression.

"What's wrong?" he finally asks. "I've never known you to refuse food."

I take the bundle and stuff it in my bag, searching desperately for anything that will give me an excuse not to meet his eyes. I can feel his sapphire gaze looking straight at me, but luckily, he is distracted for a few seconds. Long enough for me to assume my mask of indifference and look up.

"Well? What is it? Nightmares? I heard you muttering last night," he continues. "Were you being chased by stupid people or something?"

He means it as a joke, but all of a sudden everything I've been thinking spills out in an inarticulate sentence. "Everyone's always calling me an idiot, calling me stupid, just because I trip over my own feet a little more than normal people, and even you – my best friend! – call me that, and you don't care and nobody cares that it hurts and that I hate it, hate hate hate it but you don't listen and –"

Now I've done it. Opened my heart and what happens? I unleash an angry torrent of words at my best friend. I can see a wave of pity in his endless blue eyes – he never realized how much it hurt.

"Garet, c'mon. Talk to me. Don't stop… this is all my fault. I thought you didn't care. Yell at me if you want, just don't bottle your emotions up like that again…"

I can't do that. You're the hero. You've got enough burdens of your own… I can't go weighing you down with mine.

And so I smile and shrug at him, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. I know that my grin is weak and probably looks as fake as it can get, but I don't mind.

I'm not going to let anything else spill. I'm strong.

I have to be, for his sake.

"Don't worry about me… I'll be fine."

---

**A/N: Soooo, this was kinda experimental. I'm trying to be more descriptive in first-person, and I'm fairly happy with how it turned out. Still, I'm sure my opinion isn't the only one, so constructive criticism is welcome. I'm also thinking out a couple companion fanfics for this one, so tell me if you like it or not. .:grin:.  
**


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